


Love Captured

by foursugarcubes



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: :), Angst with a Happy Ending, Dinner, Emile gets what he deserves, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Meaningful conversations, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foursugarcubes/pseuds/foursugarcubes
Summary: So he was captured.The insolent seventh scion, the one he could hardly call his kin, let alone his brother, had outwitted him upon the battlefield, turning the tides of war in a matter of hours. He can oh so clearly remember the enemy forces mowing down his own fleets, some blundering fools beating away at his own with the semblance of a dragon. The look in their eyes… it wasn’t quite like anything he had seen before.Or, Emile gets taken prisoner to the Halidom.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Love Captured

**Author's Note:**

> For my very very good buddy, Delta <3 i hope you enjoy~
> 
> sidenote: this story ties in with my other one, "The Battle to Freedom" but can be read as a standalone if you so wish uwu

So he was captured.

The insolent seventh scion, the one he could hardly call his kin, let alone his brother, had outwitted him upon the battlefield, turning the tides of war in a matter of hours. He can oh so clearly remember the enemy forces mowing down his own fleets, some blundering fools beating away at his own with the semblance of a dragon. The look in their eyes… it wasn’t quite like anything he had seen before.

His loudmouth bantering just before the battle of course came in handy — if only to rouse the New Alberians into a frenzy. Ilia, he would have died if not for his coward brother, calling off his scoundrel-of-a-sylvan comrade at the last second. That damned Harle, a coward who left almost immediately when their options were running low. And then the rest of the idiots on the battlefield, immediately fleeing once he was cornered. Cowards, _cowards_ , the lot of them.

He shivers at the memory of the sylvan closing in on him, sword drawn and bloodied. At that, he could really only groan at his own actions, ashamed of his shaking hands, ashamed at his sad attempts to stop the coming attack, ashamed that he needed his _little brother_ to get out of the situation.

So he was captured.

The process went relatively smoothly, as Euden decided to take him back to their castle, his hands tied behind his back. All their troops back together, keeping a sharp eye on the “hostage” as it were, but never treating him unkindly. In most cases he would be overjoyed at the idea of tormenting his enemies, speaking unmentionable things to them and rousing their anger, but… he couldn’t. Not after such a devastating loss, not after all of his “friends” abandoned him; these people treated him nicer than they ever would.

Not that he enjoyed their company any better.

“Let go of me!” he snarled at one of their healers, forcing his arm out of their grasp. The group was taking a short rest, some eating a quick bite or tending to their wounds.

“It’s for your own good!” the healer insisted. “Untreated gashes will likely result in infections or diseases; you could get really sick-“

“I’d rather die than be treated by the likes of you!” he roared back, the healer shirking under his voice. He grinned, a glint in his eye. Maybe he still had some semblance of control in him.

His outburst caused many others to look his way, some getting up in fighting stances, but most just staring, murmuring to their neighbours. One single figure stepped forward, her pink-purple-blue hair a mess, some dirt and grime on her clothes. He recognized her as one of his brother’s commanders; a mage, by the looks of it.

Her gaze is pure steel, staring daggers at him. She’s petite, fragile, like a gust of wind could knock her over; so why is he immensely terrified? She spoke softly, menacingly, “If we wanted you to die, we would’ve left you back there.” A few gasps flittered across the crowd. He blinked rapidly, eyes widening. “Now then,” she says, through a large sigh, “let Ricardt heal you, or pray to Ilia that I shall let you remain here with us… in one piece.”

He begrudgingly chose the former.

…so he was captured.

Emile, the sixth scion, held prisoner by his younger kin, held captive in the Halidom for who knows how long. What a joke.

Even more so were the castle’s inhabitants and just how frustrating they all were. Never before has he seen such chaos, such loudness and brashness; it felt as if there were a million things going on at once, with no one in command of it all. How terribly uncivil. 

He calls them out for it as he first enters the gates, only to be rebuffed with a roaring laughter he can only recall in his youth. “This is how it is all the time!” they said. “Enjoy it as it is,” they said. He loathes them.

Euden was kind enough to let him spend his days rotting in this hell in his own room rather than the castle’s cells, still under watch most hours of the day. It’s far enough away that he won’t cause any distraction or harm, and nor will the people of the Halidom annoy him.  
The inhabitants actually fulfil all his needs accordingly and even more so; they tend to his wounds, keep him well fed, and sometimes even allow him to join in their festivities.

They continue with him as part of their lives, like he wasn’t threatening them mere weeks ago. Yachiyo invites him to spar. Valerio asks for his help in the kitchen. Elias asks him to hold up his sheet music for their lesson. They all treat him as one of their own in their own unique ways.

It hurts.

After a couple weeks, the guards loosen, seeing his behaviour changing from snappy to… sedated. Some of them try to joke around with him, and lighten the mood; others ask if he’s feeling well and seem… genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. It’s off-putting.

No, he hasn’t been feeling ill for Ilia’s sake and no, he doesn’t need the company of some cheap entertainers and swordsman to make him feel better; he is perfectly fine and capable in his own time, in isolation. What need has he for rambunctious laughter and idiotic jokes? Or people that secretly pity him and think he needs them? He pushes all of them aside.

“How are you feeling?” Euden dares ask him one day. They’re having dinner together, one that Emile had cooked, and it feels so… abnormal. He can feel it in the air.

He pokes at his food, silently taking in the compliments Euden waterfalls onto him, all through stuffed cheeks. The seventh scion looks weary; Emile can see the familiar sag in his shoulders. And yet he still came to visit? To pretend to have a bond with his kin? Emile looks again as Euden happily chewing, as if there’s not a care in the world. His hands start to shake.

He scoffs. “How am I feeling?” He gets up abruptly. “How am I feeling?” Euden merely stops chewing, gazing up at him. He hasn’t even gone for his sword. Emile’s anger burns hotter. “You’ve kept me cooped up in this castle for two months, imprisoned by my very own kin; a traitor to his family no less, and you’re asking me how I am?” He slams his hands down on the table. “How can you possibly be so dense?”  
Euden’s eyes droop. Suddenly, Emile’s transported back in time, to a memory; he had stepped on of Zethia’s drawings. Broken a pencil, or crayon, or something. Tears had started welling up in Euden’s eyes.

Emile blinks.

“Is everything okay in here?” a hooded figure pops their head in. One of Euden’s guards.

“It’s fine,” the Prince affirms, in a suddenly larger tone. “Thank you, Jurota.” Emile sits down as the door closes.

Euden smiles, looking at his finished plate. He responds, softly this time, “Cleo and Ranzal have been saying you’ve been quite… silent lately. Not as talkative or brash as the others say you always are. I… I wanted to know what’s on your mind.”

Emile blinks again. 

“I-it’s not that you have to tell me or anything, just — I hope you’re okay. And I’m here if you need me; we all are. I know you still think you’re captured and imprisoned-“

“But I am,” Emile retorts. “You wouldn’t have guards posted outside otherwise.”

Euden nods, taking a sip of water. “Word has gotten out that you’re held here,” he admits. “There are people after you. You’ve led armies into innocent villages, and turned many a blind eye on those who hurt. And they want revenge. People like Vice have offered to cover you in case any of the ones we take in are secretly plotting against you.”

The fifth scion stutters. Surely Euden could not have thought out that much? His little brother has been planning to protect him this entire time? “But what about my say?” he says, scrambling for purchase. “What right do you have in keeping me here? I could just walk out whenever I wanted to, and you wouldn’t lay a finger on me. I could do that.”

Euden takes a deep sigh. “Well,” he says, before taking another drink, “you could.”

~*~*~

Euden’s words haunt him for days on end. He couldn’t utter a single word after that; just stayed in shock, in silence until Euden thanked him for the meal and left. 

He could leave? No one would fight back against him? What sort of thing could Euden hope to gain from doing so? Thinking about it like that was pure insanity.

He begins to think of modes of escape; when he peruses the gardens, he notices the towers and alternate exits. He peers at the main entrance a little too hard that his guards start to look the other way. He thinks about his chats with Jupiter and the dragon’s various offers to “go on rides.” 

It’s been in front of him all along, hasn’t it.

He hates it.

His period of silence grows longer, longer than the residents of the Halidom have patience for. They stop asking him, stop going up to him and just saying hi. Even the children have stopped running up to him, and asking him menial questions. He caught a glimpse of Maribelle once, beaming as she’s about to run to him, but Lowen stops her in her tracks whispering something into her ear. They walk away.

He hates it. He hates it so much.

But he can’t seem to leave. He spends his time wandering the halls, through the abandoned cellars and lonely hallways, and even the guards don’t accompany him then. He looks at the rooms untouched by time, looks at the royal furnishings and wants to feel a sense of home here but he can’t do that to himself again. He looks at what could easily be his new life, and he stumbles. He cries.

A month of this passes. The only thing that changes is the cooks urging him to eat, something he can so easily escape. Even Euden’s not around to see him, off taking more land for New Alberia and converting the people, or something of the sort.

He finds himself in the highest possible level in the castle; a room he visits often. It’s a large room, well furnished, and well kept; Cleo certainly knows what she is doing. It’s dark, even with the afternoon light shining in he can barely see above the rafters. He comes here often to look down at everyone playing, sparring, coming back from missions. The room lay undisturbed for probably centuries except for the occasional dusting, sheets covering everything until he came around and decided to make this his own. All the sheets now lay tucked away in the room’s corner, neatly folded on top of each other. Except for one.

Next to the window of the room stood a full-body mirror, probably of great craftsmanship, if the legs peeking out under the sheets were anything to go by. Emile kept the sheet on for… well, he doesn’t really know. His reflection never held much weight for him to begin with, and he never cared for his own looks. To see himself in the state he’s in now would be… well.

He chuckles bitterly to himself. “What else is there to do in this hell. Might as well inspect the damage done.” With a simple tug, the sheet fell to the floor, the dust dancing in the sun’s rays. He covers his nose and eyes to shield himself from the dust… and maybe something else.

He looks.

“Well, that’s a familiar face,” another voice suddenly pipes up. Emile turns around, looking for a source. He scans frantically from side to side, seeing no one and nothing. “Sorry, I’m… up here.” Emile looks up, seeing a long, purple tail slowly curl downwards.

The figure jumps down, their… wings(?) spreading out to catch their fall. They fold perfectly behind the figure’s back. Multicoloured horns gleam in the sunlight, the rays lighting up the figure’s face. They stare back, their pupils in slits. 

“Loneliness huh?” they rasp. “I know that look well.”

Emile grimaces, instinctively backing up until his back touches the mirror. The guards aren’t here with him. He reaches for his dagger.

The figure puts their hands up. “I’m not here to hurt you. The Prince and… one of my brothers welcomed me here. Said I have a place here.” Emile’s hands shake, but he removes his hand from the weapon. The dragon sighs in relief. “Name’s Epimetheus,” he continues. “I’m sorry I intruded on your room. I was looking for a nice place to ponder.”  
Emile sighs. “It’s fine. I use this place to ponder as well.” He looks outside, to some people sparring. 

“So, why are you still lonely?” Epimetheus says.

The prince turns his head towards, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not out there, with them. But you want to be.”

Emile scoffs. “They don’t want me.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“I’m a prisoner here, Epimetheus. A burden. Do you see anyone that wants to be with me?”

“It’s not them,” Epimetheus replies evenly. “The people of the Halidom are much too selfless to simply not care.”

“Then why have they been avoiding me?” 

“They haven’t. If I know anything about Euden’s people, is that they would never turn their backs on their own. You just think it so.”

Cleo’s comments to eat more suddenly rush to the front of his brain. He grimaces. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen people purposefully veer away from me. No one wants me here.”

The dragon smiles, tenderly. “Misunderstandings can happen. You don’t know what they were planning, what they were about to do.” 

Emile blinks.

“You know what I was doing before this,” Epimetheus continues, walking towards the window, “I was also alone, and feeling unloved. My brothers were… not the greatest, as it were.” He chuckles. “But then Prometheus, the best of them, really, brought me here, where I was welcomed immediately. I had a new home.”

“But what if that’s not what I want?” Emile sneers. “In the Empire, I could have everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Money, power, an army, it was all there for me. What more could I possibly want?”

“Well,” Epimetheus muses. “Love, for one thing. Family for another.”

Emile laughs, the sound hollow, echoing to the rafters. “And what makes you think I can accomplish that? That they’ll welcome me with open arms?”

“You already have. And they already do. You just have to open your eyes to see that. It took me a while to accept but, know this…” His eyes harden, staring at Emile head on. Emile feels a shiver down his spine.

“These people are here for you, and they’re waiting for you. If you think with that in mind, there will be nothing stopping you from loving them back.”

The prince looks down, eyes scanning the floor. His hands for once, are perfectly still. He can feel his heart race, his eyes widen.

“Oh, and not a moment too soon. Look,” Epimetheus murmurs, pointing to something out the window.

Emile’s quick to look, seeing a large number of people come back to the Halidom’s gates, but that’s not what makes him gasp. At the front, Ranzal hurries towards the door, a body covered in white armour and a mop of blond hair on his back.

“Euden!” Emile whispers frantically, already running towards the door.

He hears Epimetheus sigh in content, before calling out to him. “You know what you have to do!”

The seventh scion hurries down the stairs, through the maze of hallways and rooms and larger rooms, muttering apologies to anyone he almost bumps into. He pants heavily through it all, not letting himself lose heart or stop for a moment. He’s almost out of the east wing when he skids to a halt, almost bumping into-

“Maribelle!” he exclaims. “I’m so sorry but-“

Her eyes shine the same as when he last saw her. “Uncle Emmy!” She beams up at him, and suddenly gasps. “I’m so sorry about that other time I bumped into you and didn’t say anything because Lowen said not to and reminded me that we were planning a secret party for you, like, all of the kids and he knew that if I said anything to you, I would spill the beans so I needed to not talk but I really wanted you to know and I’m also sorry for that time my squirrel friend bit your ankle and that other time Elias used you as a human sheet music stand even though that wasn’t my fault and I just want to be friends again and see each other a lot again and-“

Emile kneels and wraps her in a tight embrace, feeling warmth blossom and bloom deep in his chest. “I’m sorry too,” he murmurs. “I thought wrongly about some things but we’re all good now. We can be friends again.” He hears light sniffles and tiny arms come to hug him back. He smiles, lightly brushing her hair. He starts to get up. “We can talk more later, okay? Right now, I have to take care of some stuff.” She nods and wipes away her tears.

“You have to promise.”

“Of course.”

Emile bids her farewell, before continuing his trip running towards the entrance. When he gets there, it’s cleared out. He curses and continues running. “They must be in the medical wing,” he mumbles to himself.

He arrives, sweaty and panting, to see Euden with his armour removed on a bed, some of the healers by his side. Euden turns his head towards the sound, wincing in the process. He locks onto Emile, eyes widening, and Emile swears he can see them shining. He’s briefly reminded of a time, way back when, where he gave the younger a small present.

The grin Euden wears today is still the same.

~*~*~

So yes, he was still captured. Captured by these people, their quirks, and their love for him. Captured by just how much they show to him and give to him. Captured by their resilience, their means to never give up on him. 

Was he captured? Yes, definitely. Emile couldn’t think of a better place to spend the rest of his days.

**Author's Note:**

> other than maribelle's rant i think the best thing to come out of this is emile being a human music stand
> 
> let me know what you think!


End file.
